


Roads Untravelled

by comicroute



Category: Batman (Comics), Catwoman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Catlad, Fluff, Gen, Jason is Robin, Light-Hearted, Or no pairing whatsoever if you want, Pre-Slash, Stray!Tim, fanfiception, no sadness, there are so few fanfictions where Jason hasn't died, this is one of them, tim is catlad - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 16:02:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7721050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comicroute/pseuds/comicroute
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was supposed to be a normal, peaceful, paid-for-with-ill-gotten-gains shopping trip. Until Tim suddenly finds himself in a hostage situation. At the mall. Good thing Boy Wonderful is here to save the day -- and apparently get his butt saved by Tim right after. Tim's random act of heroism better not go to the kid's head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roads Untravelled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BeautyInTheLibrary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautyInTheLibrary/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Fake It To Make It](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6829588) by [BeautyInTheLibrary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautyInTheLibrary/pseuds/BeautyInTheLibrary). 



> I just recently got into the whole Catlad AU, and though I can't ship JayTim outside of the AU, I still adore everything having to do with it. Credit to BeautyInTheLibrary for hooking me onto it, and for giving me back my writing muse!
> 
> (Title taken from Linkin Park, album Living Things)

It’s unfair. At the very least, if Tim is going to get himself caught in some sort of hostage situation, he should be in his costume. That way he can befriend the robbers and walk out unscathed, maybe make some new contacts through the whole ordeal. Selina has so far forbidden Tim from hitting the streets as his newly established costumed thief identity, but he figures that the ‘desperate times call for desperate measures’ excuse would work right about now.

No such luck.

Then again, maybe Tim doesn’t want to have these amateurs as contacts. After all, they’re robbing a shopping mall.

“Idiots,” Tim hisses from where he’s laying flat on his stomach on the cold (and dirty, ugh, gross), what-used-to-be-white linoleum floor. The woman beside him, a plump lady possibly nearing her middle ages with wild eyes and fingers shaking from stress, stares at him in alarm. “A shopping mall? Of all places? Would of been better off being totally cliche and going for a bank. There are so many exits and entrances here, there’s no way in hell this tiny group can cover all of them, even in just this store. Not to mention the mall cops. And all these racks -- the amount of cover someone sneaking up can take is ridiculous.” It could also work both ways, Tim supposes -- more cover for the guys to take if someone sneaks up, more entrances and exits to sneak out of, but he’s certain the police have it all down. The best thing going for these idiots is the clothing all around them, plus the pandemonium that would break out if they let the hostages run wild. Quick change and then running with the hostages equals an easy escape. But even then, the mall is too large, there’s no way to be sure of anything. Tim is starting to think that they’re just trying to prove a point or something.

The way the woman looks at him, horrified, has Tim thinking that all this probably shouldn’t have been his first reaction to being held at gunpoint.

“Stop talking!” one of the air-headed brutes exclaims, waving his machine gun in Tim’s face.

“Yeah, yeah, tough guy,” Tim mutters. The brute doesn’t notice.

The woman is still looking at him like he’s crazy. Maybe he is. It would certainly explain a lot.

Tim had been so close to being out of there. He even has his shopping cart beside him. Do these people have any idea how long it took Tim to find the perfect new wardrobe? The shopping cart is practically overflowing. Seriously, if they had waited like five minutes they would have a ton more money to snatch from the cash register, and Tim would be a free man. Win-win situation for everyone. Tim isn’t exactly paying with honest money, but he has a feeling these guys wouldn’t care.

He has to find a way to contact Selina. She’ll be able to get him out of this. Tim’s starting to get concerned, because he doesn’t think whipping out in the martial arts Selina taught him is going to help him much against six guys with guns (machine guns, no less) -- he’s not a crowd fighter -- and his seduction tactics, the real lessons Selina has been teaching him, really don’t work for a fourteen year old boy without his skintight leather get-up. In his jeans and oversized Batman t-shirt, he probably just looks malnourished and pubescent.

He could follow orders, but rarely do these situations end without anyone getting hurt, especially for such amateurs that don’t even know how to successfully pick a location to rob. They look awkward with their big guns, something that contrasts brashly against the beaming pride on their faces. They clearly haven’t gotten used to the weapons, and they’re dressed more like a bunch of gangsters ready to pick on some kid at the skatepark than professional robbers.

“Fuck, they got those from arms dealers,” Tim mutters with the realisation. No way would average Gothamite gangsters have access to military grade weapons without a smuggling middle man. But why would gangsters be robbing shopping malls instead of shooting other gangs? It doesn’t make sense.

And it shouldn’t be any of Tim’s business. Really. He’s no cop. He’s supposed to be in the same profession as these guys, for pete’s sake (at least, according to said cops, because the work he and Selina do is far more graceful and artistic than these dumbasses).

Then again, they’re holding one of their ill-gotten gains against Tim’s head, so he figures that’s justification enough for his nosiness.

He lays there in silence, contemplating all of his angles as his breath puffs hot against the shiny floor and the nerve-wracked woman whimpers and shakes beside him. “It’ll be okay,” he hears her whispering. Tim figures she’s talking to herself until he gives her a sidelong glance and realises that she’s talking to him. It’s touching and all, but he really doesn’t need the reassurement. He doesn’t say anything, though, because it looks as if she sure does.

Idiot number one is loudly cleaning through the cash register while idiot number two waves his gun at a young businessman a few yards away from where Tim is laying, demanding he give the robber his watch. Idiot number three is the one closest to Tim. He’s pacing, seems the most irritated out of them all with gauges big enough that Tim feels like he could fit his entire fist inside. Number four disappeared down the hall to Tim’s right, which he knows leads to the escalators connecting to the roof parking, number five is pacing on the other side from the cash register just barely out of sight, and number six is guarding the closest door.

Tim feels like he’s losing brain cells just looking at them. He’s staring at the way a heavy golden-coloured (coloured, because no way is it worth more than a few cents, but it looks pretty in the glaring overhead lights anyway) chain necklace is rocking back and forth, glinting mesmerizingly in the light around idiot number five’s neck when the lights suddenly go out.

Tim hears machine gun fire and the bright sparks accompanying the sounds glare against his retinas as his eyes desperately scramble to adjust. The sounds that come after it are harder to distinguish. It sounds like fighting, no doubt, but the only sounds are thumps and yells and gunfire -- all from the idiots. Whoever is attacking them is dead silent.

Tim’s eyes finally adjust, but it still takes his brain a few moments to truly register what’s going on.

Six grown men with machine guns are getting their asses kicked… by a 5 ft kid in underwear.

“Oh my god, it’s Robin, that means Batman is here. Batman is going to save us. We’re saved!” the woman cries hysterically, latching onto Tim. He feels his face scrunch up in discomfort before he can school his expression, but he lets the woman have her moment. “Don’t worry, honey, we’re going to be out of here in no time.”

Tim doesn’t respond because he’s barely listening to her to begin with. He feels his jaw unhinge just a little bit, and he’s sure he paints an interesting picture, eyes wide and awestruck like in a cartoon. He can’t be bothered to do anything about it.

Batman is nowhere to be found. It’s just Robin, who before he’s only seen in Gotham Gazette tabloids and heard about in angry talk shows and Selina’s nightly escapades. And the Boy Wonder has really earned his title. He looks a little younger than Tim remembers from older photos, and his fighting has always looked bendy like a snake or light like a bird in grainy security footage, but right now Tim can see first hand the power behind every strike. The kid is a powerhouse coiled into 5 ft of expertise.

The way a tile in the ceiling has been removed, Tim assumes that’s where Robin dropped from, which should have had him directly land on idiot number one’s shoulders. Tim can see his arm with its silver watch barely poking out from behind the counter on the ground.

Tim watches as an idiot finally manages to land a hit on the Boy Wonder with a swing of his gun barrel, and the thug looks just as surprised as Robin about it. He must have meant to shoot the kid, but there isn’t any time to rejoice about the small victory because Robin hardly seems phased. He expertly twists around and lands on the counter in time to spring off with his hands, twist, and land both feet on the chest of the thug as if the thug is nothing but another springboard, his golden chain necklace bouncing so far off his neck that it hits him in the face as he goes down.

Another thug gets up and charges at Robin, and throughout all of it, Robin is laughing. Like getting charged at with an automatic weapon is the most fun thing he can imagine doing on a Saturday afternoon. Robin easily strikes the thug’s fingers with some sort of projectile he managed to discharge from his hip, forcing the man to drop his gun. But while Robin is occupied with that, someone manages to sneak up behind him and grab his arms, attempting to put him in a headlock. He doesn’t get very far, because in seconds Robin has kicked his legs up and flipped around to spring off the man’s shoulders, grabbing him by the neck and using his momentum to toss him to the ground, finishing on his hands and pushing off the floor to wrap his legs around the first unarmed thug’s neck and squeeze his head between his thighs. It doesn’t take long until the man falls limp and drops like a ragdoll.

Tim assumes the main goal was to get the men unarmed first before knocking them all out, because Robin’s first targets are already getting up again. The Boy Wonder seems unsurprised, despite the chaos now starting up as the former hostages realise their chance and begin scrambling in the opposite direction. Someone is yanking on Tim’s arm, he assumes the woman, but he shrugs her off and she eventually decides to book it.

There’s a gunshot as Tim is looking at the woman, telling her to go. That isn’t unusual, but what is new is the boyish cry of pain, far more high pitched than any of the raspy voices of the thugs and without any of the familiar slurs. He whips his head around just in time to see Robin wrap an arm around another man’s neck, cutting off the circulation of his blood instead of his air in the same move Tim remembers learning from Selina just last week, dropping to the ground just as the other does.

He tosses the man off of him after a few heartstopping seconds, but doesn’t move to stand up. That’s when Tim throws all caution to the wind. He doesn’t decide his actions, per say, because he doesn’t particularly give it any thought. One moment he’s flat on his stomach in the dark mall as some businessman narrowly avoids stepping on his fingers and the next, he’s wrapping someone else’s thin arm around his neck. He has a brief moment to remark that the arm may look like it belongs to a nerdy pre-teen, but that there are most certainly rock hard muscles layered beneath it, before he’s checking for wounds. 

Tim wasn’t kidding about the underwear. Robin looks like he’s wearing green boxer briefs, but at least it’s good for quickly spotting the bullet wound in his calf.

“Oh god,” he breathes as Robin visibly bites his lip to stifle a cry of pain, the blood quickly running down his ankles and pooling into his combat boots. Apparently the enigmatic vigilante has no qualms about accepting civilian help because he gratefully begins using Tim as a support to get back on his feet. “You need a hospital. You need--”

“It’s just fat,” Robin groans. Tim stiffens and Robin physically turns his head to regard him. Tim has the strangest notion that he’s rolling his eyes behind his mask. “There’s an exit wound. It’s in my calf. No bone. All fatty tissue. It’s fine, it just hurts like a bitch.”

All Tim can think about to answer is, “Are you old enough to swear?”

Again, Tim is pretty sure Robin’s glaring at him.

But they have to work fast. Robin is completely pressed into Tim’s side, so he can feel when Robin suddenly goes deathly still. It’s followed by heavy footsteps coming down the hall, and the gruff shouts of orders.

S.W.A.T.

At least there’s one thing Tim and vigilantes have in common -- cops are bad news. He doesn’t want to cause Robin more pain, but when a lightbulb goes off in his head he knows he has to act fast. He promptly drops the teenager, causing a shout of indignant protest to erupt abruptly.

“I’m sure you’ve had worse,” Tim says in way of consolation as he runs to a spot a few feet away. “Don’t move!”

Tim is questioning all of his life decisions when, less than a minute later, he’s casually walking past a throng of S.W.A.T officers with a kid he doesn’t know barely leaning against his shoulder. Key word on barely. Just a few seconds ago he could have sworn Robin was leaning on him like his life depended on it, but now there’s barely a limp in his step. Doesn’t change the fact that every so often Robin grunts like he’s Atlas holding up the sky, and Tim doesn’t doubt that’s what walking with a bullet wound feels like.

“Is your friend okay?” a detective asks, intercepting them out of literally nowhere. Fuck. At least this one isn’t S.W.A.T. The GCPD must have finally secured the area, which means walking out of here without interrogation is unlikely. Robin bends his head down the more the man tries to look him in the eyes.

“Yeah, he’s just in a little shock, gonna get him to an ambulance,” Tim answers.

The detective nods in approval. “Good idea. They’re all right outside at the intersection. Make sure you get yourself checked, too.”

“Thanks, Detective,” Tim says, overly polite.

The badge smiles and looks to the side at another street cop walking up. “Montoya, see if you can help these two--”

“No, no, really, I’ve got it,” immediately pipes Tim, perhaps too eagerly. He gives his most disarming smile when the man looks unconvinced.

“No, I insist--”

“It’s okay, Jim,” the boy on his arm finally says. Tim stiffens in shock, right along with the detective. There’s a moment where the boy raises his chin just barely, only enough for Gordon to see his face if he ducks because Tim stuffed a hoodie and sweatpants on the teen and they got lucky that the hoodie is big enough to have the hood flop over the boy’s eyes. The gangsters may be idiots, but they’re useful idiots -- it’s hard to be stuck without a disguise in a shopping mall.

“Robin?” The detective, apparently named Jim, hisses. Officer Montoya arrives beside them and looks at them curiously. She immediately steps forward to help support Robin. Jim looks vaguely panicked. “Actually, Renee,” he immediately says, his eyes wide behind his spectacles. Tim, amidst his cloud of slight terror, is impressed with how Jim manages to completely relax his expression by the time the officer turns to face her superior. “See if you can help Bullock sweep the area for any more crime scenes the CSI’s can find useful. I’ll handle this.”

The brunette woman offers a quick suspicious glance before nodding and offering her best wishes to the teenagers. The party of the three are silent as they wait for her to walk out of earshot.

“What happened?” Jim finally demands. When Robin doesn’t seem like he’s going to speak, instead staring at the ground, Tim decides to take the lead.

“He got slightly wounded. He’ll be fine, but he wasn’t able to make it out before S.W.A.T. arrived,” Tim says, giving a broad definition to the word ‘slightly’. Jim scrutinises him.

“What’s your name, young man?”

“What’s Robin’s?” he quips. Jim looks taken aback. Good.

Jim turns to Robin and opens his mouth, but Robin beats him to it. “Batman isn’t here. I gotta go,” he says quickly and begins striding forward, leading Tim instead of the other way around. Jim just watches them leave.

They shuffle in silence until Tim finally can’t take it anymore. “You have detectives in your pocket now?” he hisses. Sure, it isn’t all that surprising, considering how much Batman and Robin manage to get away with on top of no one discovering their identities despite all the DNA they must leave around after a fight. But for some reason, Tim was under the impression that the self-righteous vigilantes of Gotham were too good for that. Apparently he still holds the capacities of human morality to too high of standards, even after becoming a professional thief.

“We don’t keep anyone in our ‘pockets’,” Robin says immediately, sounding indignant at the accusation. “Detective Jim Gordon is a friend. He wants to help Gotham just as much as we do. The only honest cop in this whole god forsaken city. He knows that this city needs vigilantes like me and Bats, so he doesn’t waste his time running around trying to catch us when there are real, worse people running loose that need to be prioritised. He doesn’t know who we are so he isn’t breaking any laws. Us hero-types stick together.”

Tim isn’t stupid enough not to notice the underlying threat behind the words, and he doesn’t take it lightly. He knows for a fact that there are tons of thugs tangled in Selina’s network that believe the Bat and his kid sidekick aren’t trouble because they refuse to kill anyone, and the standards for living are sufficiently lowered in the underworld, to the point where ‘not dying’ might as well mean freedom. But if what Tim saw today is any indication, the only threats worth acknowledging aren’t only the threats of death. He doesn’t say anything in response to Robin, but he feels something in his chest, the same adrenaline he gets after a good heist, that tells him this isn’t over. And he couldn’t be happier. 

Robin doesn’t notice his smile.

They exit the main doors, assaulted by sunlight, and surprisingly no one takes much notice. He tries turning left, but Robin abruptly tugs him right and drops his arm from around Tim’s shoulders despite Tim’s grip. He’s still leaning heavily on Tim. It takes until they round the corner to an alley that Tim realises Robin changed their direction in order to be sheltered by Tim from the view of the EMT’s busying themselves with the other hostages. If anyone noticed he was injured, they would have never let them leave.

They stop at the end of the alley in front of a brick wall signifying a dead end. Robin lets go of Tim to lean heavily against the wall, groaning.

“Is there...someone I can call?” Tim asks, feeling stupid. Robin gives a breathy, strained laugh at that and looks up, the hood falling off his head to reveal his domino mask.

“You’re one weird kid.”

Tim raises an eyebrow and folds his arms over his chest, leaning against the adjacent wall casually, just like Selina taught him. He smirks, letting it shine through that he has no care in the world. “Says the one wearing panties in broad daylight. It feel nice to finally put on pants?” Robin’s smile immediately drops into a frown. Tim decides immediately that he doesn’t like that look on him. “Then again, I can’t say I don’t appreciate the sight of those sexy long legs.”

Tim was expecting a blush, but he wasn’t expecting one to reach the kid’s neck. Oh, this is going to be fun.

“Uh, look, if you’re a fan--” Robin tries to start saying in an attempt to maintain his dignity.

“Not a fan,” Tim smirks. Robin seems lost.

“Right. Well…,” he pauses as he awkwardly pushes off from the wall, shuddering in pain. “Thank you for the help. You didn’t have to.” He reaches into one of his pouches.

“No problem. I know a thing or two about not trusting the cops.” Robin freezes again at that, his frown returning, but Tim doesn’t want him to think too hard about the comment. “See ya around, Boy Wonderful.”

Only a small blush this time, probably accompanied by an eyeroll. At least Robin can tell when a conversation is over, because he only hesitates for a moment before taking his grapple gun out and aiming for a roof top. It’s only when the boy is gone that Tim realises he didn’t give him his name.

No matter, Tim isn’t someone easily forgotten. He’ll make sure of that. With a smirk, he flips his phone out and immediately enters the only speed dial on his phone. “Hey, mama,” he says, listening as Selina gives her usual purr through the receiver. “I think it’s time for Stray to have some fun.”


End file.
